ann's rants

Super Multi-ethnic Multi-talented Homemaker Grandma!

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 08:00:00 +0000

The very day that awesome Tony of Life with Tony asked me to guest post about being a superhero, I was party to a bank hold up. Seeing a dude jump behind the counter and command us to “Get on the floor” exceeded my quotient of live action/adventure for the next four score and many years. No, if I had super-powers I would put them to beautifully mundane, yet practical use...(click here to read the rest of my SUPER MULTIETHNIC MULTITALENTED HOMEMAKER GRANDMA on Tony's blog)

Check out Tony's blog while you're over there. Kinda like the Paul Rudd buddy movie of the blogosphere, Tony's writing is funny, a little gross, never pretentious, and always genuine.

**Closing comments over here, feel free to leave one over yonder!

The Saddies

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 18:12:00 +0000

Hey readers, I'm consumed with a big soon-to-be disclosed project. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a version of an essay I wrote a while ago...

The Saddies

After you complete your morning mad-skivvies-dash to retrieve your newspaper, and while you chase your coffee with some brand of nuggety-crunch, to which section of the newspaper do you turn first? Some people like to greet their day with the funnies. Others prefer, well, The Saddies.

I come from a line of habitual obituary-reading people. It’s one thing to make sure none of your blue-haired bingo buddies bit it over the weekend, but I hesitate to call the practice normal for a vibrant young person. Someday scientists may identify a genetic predisposition for obituary perusal. A segment of the population—probably very small, and perhaps consisting entirely of Jews related to me somehow—will nod knowingly. That’s why Dad calls me up in the middle of his workday, asking me if so-and-so was in my class, because he or she died tragically…If Dad’s email contains some vaguely familiar name in the subject line, my siblings and I know to sit down before opening the message. In fact, he now prefaces any non-death communication with “Do you know so-and-so? Don’t worry they’re not dead.”

My Dad isn't the only one to participate in this macabre ritual. Upon returning from vacation, my Mom managed to give us a warm embrace before dashing over to our newspaper “to see who died.” Even my grandparents had a life-long tradition of five-o-clock Whiskey Sours and the New York Times crossword puzzle, peppered with discussion about the day’s obituaries “A needle case? Etui. Stu Wasserman? Cardiac Arrest.”

Sadly, our dead friends can no longer rest in peace. A rising trend in identity theft uses obituary details to obtain the deceased’s social security number, as a means of accessing new lines of credit... Honey, I know your Great Uncle just passed, but it looks like he purchased an Executive Costco Membership and has a strong affinity for Kirkland diapers and Grey Goose Vodka. My financial planner included in her recent newsletter precautions for identity protection in the obituaries. She suggested forgoing date of death (including month), and withholding identifying information such as address, and full name. What a challenge for the survivors:

Somewhat Recently in the year 2008ish, our beloved Grandperson died, somewhere in the Tri-State area. He/She worked very hard with some great people at Anonymous Company, and will be dearly missed by an unspecified number of loved ones. The family chose this emoticon to capture the spirit of our beloved Grandhuman

Given that I’ve skimmed The Saddies daily for several years now, I have one request for those losing their own grand human. If your family forgoes identity safety by posting an actual picture, please choose thoughtfully. Choose a photo as you would choose an outfit for a viewing. Grandma would look downright silly in her high school cap and gown, right? Forgo the class photo temptation, valedictorian or not. It’s jarring to see a dashing young swell where one expects a 93-year-old man. Of course you want to remember him as his old self, and a spry nonagenarian photo can capture that moment in time.

If I have the fortune of living well into Great-Grannydom (knock wood, throw salt, ptooey!) I hope my offspring commemorate my life not with my Bat Mitzvah photo (if you can find one—I was the third child), but instead with a photo of me high-stepping as a white-haired Reno in the Jewish Community Day Center production of Anything Goes. This photo could satisfy both the criteria of protecting my identity (fishnets and gold lame) and of celebrating my legacy in a quasi age-appropriate manner. Please go ahead and include quotes from any favorable reviews as well. Why be humble? I’m dead!

Until that final curtain call, I continue my daily coffee klatch with the dead. Be it culture, genetics, or Judaism that calls me to this leg of a health-and-youth-gratitude relay, I graciously receive The Saddies baton and join my parents as we go tsking, head-shaking, and finger-crossing our way to the ultimate finish line

Ramona Age 36

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 03:41:00 +0000

RamonaAge36 seeking Male 30-50 and not that nogoodsonuvaHowie Senior.

Howie? If you are reading this, get your butt back down to The Whopper Burger and get your job back. Then maybe your sister Willa Jean and her wife/my sister Beezus will start speaking to you again. In the mean time I’m wet-jetting my way across every floor on Klickitat street.

So yes, I am seeking a male 30-50 that can support me and Howie Junior. Make that 30-70: Sugar Daddies welcome.

And Howie Senior? Next time your “friend” Perfect Susan calls me to straighten her hair again (just because I boi-oi-oinged it in Kindergarten), I will kindly tell her where she can put her award-winning Cream of Wheat pear syrup chicken thighs. The recipe that she STOLE from Beezus and I (if we'd had a deep fryer, ours would've been award-wining FIRST).

Are you still reading this Howie Senior? Willa Jean and Beezus have couples’ yoga tonight and cannot pick up Howie Junior again at Shop Rite. There is only so much Drop Everything and Read-ing a boy can do while watching his grandfather inventory the frozen food warehouse.

So Howie Senior, get your job back, never so much as speak to Boingy Susan again and pick up Junior. All other interested males please send picture and proof of employment to ramona36@pickypicky.com

###

Have you heard about Funny Not Slutty's Blog Book? I have a piece in it and so do bloggy friends Anna, Beej, Heidi, Lisa, JD, Jayne, Paula, Suzy and plenty of other funny females. Go download it for free and thank Jacki for her super hard work if you get the chance. I was on the selection committee (convenient I know, cough cough), but she does all the heavy lifting over at FNS (all in a silver studded weight belt I'm told...shhhh)

Thanks for the awesome shout outs from Rachel of GetRealMommy and Lucy and Jane of Four Jugs. Both of your blogs are full of funny parenting insight and cleverness in general.

Observations By A More Popular 5th Grader:

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 14:00:00 +0000

You wear that “Real People” t-shirt practically every single day.

When we sing Billy Joel that doesn’t mean you can sing too. Just because we “whoa-oh-oh-oh” does not mean you can add “for the longest” in that dumb low voice when you are not even invited. Jessica said you always start to sing when other people start singing.

Katy’s moves are way too ballet.

Just because you got to go to The Big Apple doesn’t mean your chartreuse skinny tie, belt, slinky bracelet, and dangelies are cool. You said you were going to New York.

You are totally developing.

Shtop begging fer my Gian Schewy Shweet Tarts. (sllsllslllsllsll) Get yer own Gian Schewy Shweet Tarts.

Jessica said she was so scared when she ate spaghetti at your house that you were going to throw up all over. Remember when you puked spaghetti at my house and my brother said he heard you?

Stop asking Lars to go with you. He said his mom said he can’t go with anyone until he is 15.

Jason is in love with you. His brother wants to know why you are playing with his mind.

Why do you have that hair all over your arms?

Do you want to come to gymnastics with me again? You can sit and watch. We will crack up when Fran makes that spaz-face before she does her round off back handspring back handspring.

Don’t you totally think Miss Hammer puts Snoopy And The Red Baron on the weekly top ten herself? No one else votes for that gaywad song.

You are my third-best friend. Actually, you are my-fourth best friend.

Do you want to play swim team?

***

p.s. Go read my fabulously funny friend Anna Lefler's "How To Put On a Sports Bra" over at McSweeneys. Anna of Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder was my first bloggy idol, and I now refer to the best and quirkiest humor as "Leflerian" in certain circles. Ok, so in the one specific circle that is my cerebral cortex, but it's an homage non the less. Doesn't "homage" seem like a good description for those lines cartoonist draw to indicate a bad smell emanating from a dirty sock?

Have a great week!

Signs it is Purim and not Halloween in DiasporaExtreme, USA

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 15:37:00 +0000

No one else is wearing a costume.

No one knows it is Purim.

No one else has actually heard of Purim, but think it might be a hand-sanitizer, and wonder why you are wearing that oversized triangle on your head.

When your neighbor asks why you are wearing a triangle hat and a greasepaint goatee, and you respond "I’m Haman” she does not smile. She crooks her head and says “That’s nice dear.”

A random dude wandering by overhears and responds "Hey Mon." He holds out his hand as in a universally-recognized high five.

Instead of trick or treating you get to go to temple.

Instead of ghost stories, you are regaled with yet another tale of near-genocide from your Rabbi. He is dressed as Dolly-the-Cloned-Sheep for the occasion.

Instead of candy you get to enjoy pastries full of prunes (Surprise!) or maybe even poppyseeds (SURPRISE)!!

No one understands when you complain that Queen Esther costumes are so cliche

After your friends and neighbors receive your Annual Purim Letter, they never mention it to you ever, and seem a little more eye-twitchy in your presence than usual.

No one else seems to know the festive holiday carol ‘My Hat it Has Three Corners’ in English. They don’t even know the Hebrew version “Ha Covah Sheli Shalosh Pinot” but when you say “Pinot” the neighbor boy laughs really hard.

Playmobile 911

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 06:01:00 +0000

BreakerBreaker we have a hairless acrobat trapped inside the utility storage compartment over here in the Camper Van. Someone shoved a baby guinea pig and dirtbike handlebars into her headchamber, but she’s still got a full tub of popcorn in her hand. I think she’s gonna make it. Do you read me?

Copy that. Mobile1. Requesting patience, as we’ve got a serious situation here in the circus tent involving a pterodactyl, the trapeze, and what looks to be Mother Hubbard with a rifle in her baby sling. Requesting backup.

BreakerBreaker this may be a serial situation as the stow-and-go seems to contain numerous hair scalps including two ponytails, a turban, and fortheloveof Pete-- a bowl cut. We’re not going anywhere soon. I'll call Safari/Ranger Dude and see if he can come over on the jeep. Last I saw the vehicle, Pharoah and his buddies had stripped the thing and had it up on blocks in the Pyramid. But I bet she still motors just fine. If you see any hairless patrons, send them our way. Copy?

Mobile 1! Mobile 1! We may have a hostage situation. Mother Hubbard refuses to dismount the flying trapeze, and has her site aimed at the saxophone-wielding circus monkey. She’s demanding the orange juice and sardine tin from the RV as well as the adult-sized dirt bike. Pterodactyl is losing his grip on her ankles, and noway nohow that mini rake and dustpan is gonna handle this kind of mess, should this thing blow up.

BreakerBreaker, Tell Mother Hubbard we just checked the cooler. Those tiny foodstuffs likely went straight down the heating vent by way of some chubby little fingers months ago. Tell her the ambulance is on the way containing the IV--which doubles as a Caprisun or a Pina Colada, depending on the plot line. Talk her down Mobile 1! You can do it. She’s probably just desperate for some alone time—what with only a rocker to sit in, a fussy baby in an hideous canopy-crib to entertain her, and a huge purple bonnet strapped to her head. Tell her if she puts down the rifle, we’ll give her the keys to the RV no questions asked. And for god’s sakes, tell pterodactyl to put a sock in it. We’ll bring him a handful of baby chicks from the farmhouse, just as soon as we can snap these hairdos on their rightful owners.

Thanks, Mobile 1. But we’ve got much bigger problems. It’s the last Monday of the month, and Mommy is on her “Clean up for the Cleaners” mission. Tell all your people to assume the position, as those flailing arms are about to swoop in and sweep up. The way this lunatic cleans, there are likely to be many casualties.

Breaker Breaker. Copy that old buddy, and warn all units: Beware the Dyson. BEWARE THE DYSON. 10-4.

Medicine MANIA!

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 02:21:00 +0000

Featuring lightweight and highly bendable THREE vs. Middleweight and highly obsessed ME (with appearances from Heavy Weight and highly ambivalent HUSBAND)

ROUND ONE (PING!)
Begin antibiotic dosage in car seat, immediately following doctor diagnosis of double-ear-infections-almost-rupturing. Succeed in dosing antibiotic all over car seat (and snow suit) with none passing through Three’s ziplocked lips. Tears commence.

On the ride home, console Three with ideas of chocolate ice-cream chasers. After arriving home and while preparing the second-attempt dosage, realize that you finished the chocolate ice cream two nights ago.

Break "oops no ice cream" news gently, but follow up with a magically appearing dusty chocolate ball from your wizard-cupboard full of plastic extemporaneousness. Place it side by side with the medicine.

Three will lunge for the chocolate. BUT YOU ARE NOT FOOLED THAT EASILY. Whoaaa no, YOU ARE NOT.

Breathe.

Offer the choices and for God's sake PROTECT THAT MAGICAL DUSTY CHOCOLATE BALL. Offer? Protect! Offer? Protect! Offer? Three refuses, superglues lips, hides.

ROUND TWO (PINNGG)
Tackle Three while trying to channel serious medic force-feeding skills. Struggle ensues as Three evaporates and disappears even when faced with the fullest of Nelsons. Whimper, whine, stomp RRRROOOAARRR!!! Terrify both children and Husband who tries to help but cannot get a pulse on exactly what the hell is going on around here, nor what on earth he should do. Smile. LAUGH maniacally. Wish you had a less cliché reference than Joan Crawford.

Consider immediate conversion to Christian Science, complete with a healing prayer circle Tweet-up.

Instead, accept offer of help from Almost Six. He too wants a magic dusty chocolate ball so badly and despite your request/demands/begging NOT TO TOUCH THE MEDICINE DO NOT TOUCH THE MEDICINE Almost-Six grabs the second-attempt dosage and launches a vial full of medicine kinda sorta at Three’s mouth. Three wails upon receipt of medicine face-wash [insert always effective “(sigh)NO ONE EVER LISTENS TO ME(stomp)” here].

Mop up small sticky Three and appeal to his reason. Because preschoolers are logical. “If you don’t take this medicine your ears will pop and it will hurt so bad. (Three cries harder). If you don’t take this medicine I will have to bring you back to the Doctor tomorrow and you will have to get a shot (Three cries harder still).

ROUND THREE (PINNNGGG)
Mix Third and final dose with chocolate syrup. Spill it all over Three in the process—also known as HersheyBoarding. Three is okay with HersheyBoarding. Stay calm and try to stay positive, do not let your fear of failure show. Hold your breath as he takes spoonful after interminable spoonful, and watch his pathetic little expression alternate between revulsion and chocolate deliciousness.

Follow with magic dusty chocolate ball.

Repeat twice daily FOR TEN DAYS.

Interview with myself #4: 18-year-old Summer Camp Counselor-in-Training

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 06:01:00 +0000

The next installment in a series of stunning displays of narcissism in one act...

Camp Director: So why do you think you are ready to be on staff at Named-After-Wealthy-People Institute?

Ann: Please don’t say Institute. I’m already composing inappropriate cheers.

Camp Director: So why do you want to work at camp?

Ann: I love camp (boys). I love Jews (boys). The friends I’ve made here (dress in ROOTS) understand me in a way that none of my friends do at home (have never even heard of ROOTS)

Camp Director: What do you say to your friends when they ask why you want to spend your summer praying and studying Judaism?

Ann: They pray (not to get busted) and study (advanced beer bonging) too. They know that my camp is really special to me (boys). They won’t remember anything about their summers, but I will cherish these memories for years and know many Hebrew prayers by rote and have little idea what they mean.

Camp Director: How will you handle ten kids in one cabin?

Ann: I’m so good with kids. Yes I will try to drag that one girl from her bed, but she was thrashing back and forth so wildly she was well on her way.

Camp Director: How about the kids that are (just off meds for the month their parents send them to camp) homesick?

Ann: I will sing them The Rainbow Connection or foist them on my co-counselor and go make out with my boyfriend

Camp Director: What special skills do you have?

Ann: I love to act and sing. I can totally help out with Drama (sing louder than everyone so they can hear my mad Jewish trills and flirt with the very much older and very much too interested married drama director) I am going to do this awesome impression of you at the staff meeting actually. I wonder if you will think it is so amazing that I am so talented. I know you will not regret hiring me. Especially since my parents have paid you thousands of dollars over several years, and you really have no choice. I might as well tell you that I end up marrying a non-Jew, but that is less my fault and probably due to your no camper-staff relationship policy. Just saying, you might want to rethink that one. B’Shalom!

Please do “GET ON THE FLOOR” and other bank-robbery survival nuggets

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 06:01:00 +0000

If you are on Twitter, you may already know that I was party to an armed bank robbery on Tuesday morning. In fact I was THE party, in that I was the only customer on premises when the crime occurred. I don’t want to rehash the whole event, because then my adrenaline gets going and my posture becomes very DomoAriGotoMr.Roboto and I have to go yogify myself.

But I will say that if you catch a glimpse of a scruffy man with a huge plastic trash bag BEHIND the teller counter and hear the words “GET ON THE FLOOR” follow his instructions. If you tend toward courteousness in a crisis, you too may have a moment to tell your personal banker to GET OFF THE PHONE AND GET ON THE FLOOR.

“Nuggets” implies more than one nugget, so here is one more potentially life-saving nugget: Listen during your mortgage refinancing when they tell you that you must send in your property taxes. Pay attention, rather than just nodding and signing and signing and signing all the while humming “Sussudio. Ohwhoa-oh” through your Werther’s butterscotch-clenched jaw.

If you listen, then you will know when you never receive the check that you are supposed to submit in order to pay your 2009 property taxes. You won’t miss the deadline and end up in your neighborhood branch bank location needing a new check, at the precise moment that a dude jumps over the counter with a gun.

Ben Franklin mused about the certainty of death and taxes, and for me they are now inextricably linked.

p.s. the winner of the Shopbop $100 gift card is Luther Liz from Random Thoughts of a Lutheran Geek. Congrats and happy shopping! Liz? Email me (annsrants@yahoo.com) with your mailing address.

p.p.s. The police already have two suspects in custody. Right ON!

p.p.p.s I am doing okay. I could qualify that in all sorts of heightened-awareness, duck-and-cover ways, but I think I’ll stop here.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Real Valentines

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 06:01:00 +0000

Romeo, Romeo
Get off of my balcony or I will get a restraining order

Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue
If the kitchen isn’t clean in the morning
I will go Elizabeth Taylor-Martha-Virginia Woolf on you

My love is like a red red rose
Kind of cliche and a little wilted

Be Mine!
(Just kidding. Everyone in the class got one)

Your love is like bad medicine
There is no appropriate way to dispose of it except maybe sending it to a third world country

Some say love it is a flower
But that my dear, is garlic mustard

I love you a bushel and a peck
Whatever the hell that means

And I’ll be your friend
And I’ll be your lover
And I know in our hearts we’ll agree
It’s better if you shave your own back hair

You are the sunshine of my life
and the dirty sock balls on my floor

Love me tender, love me true...
Let me go to sleep

My real valentine for you, dear readers, is a $100 dollar shopbop gift card giveaway! Leave a comment with “SB” and I will select a winner at random—posting the results Friday. Shopbop has stylish clothing and accessories at every price point. On the cheap--I LOVE these Madewell gunmental earrings, which would look quite fetching with this Alexander Wang Jess handbag (she says while slobbering on her keyboard).

xoxo

Name Calling

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 08:00:00 +0000

The ultimate household insult has been upgraded from “Meatiac” to “Greediac”
(although “Babyful Person” is a contender and known to insight tears)

We are also noticing an upswing in “you nasty” as in:

Me: I love sour cream
Almost Six: You NASTY!

and

Me: Do you want a kiss?
Three: We hate princess kisses. Girls are NASTY.

Keep these insults in mind and please head over to the Mouthy Housewives. I’m honored to guest post today, giving advice for handling the Greediac in any group.

p.s. don’t forget to vote for those very Mouthy Housewives' and Aunt Becky's Blogher humor/advice blogging ROYO session! Blogher ROYO sounds like something off a value menu, doesn't it?

What Up Miss Piggle Wiggle

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 22:43:00 +0000

Famous for her “Won’t Pick Up Toys Cure” “Never-Want-To-Go-To-Bedders Cure” and “Radish cure” (in which Miss Piggle Wiggle suggested planting seeds in your very dirty child, if I remember correctly), Miss Piggle Wiggle now addresses the problems of a new generation:

“The Stop Selling Your Brother’s Ritalin Cure”

“The Seasonal Affective My Left One, Get Outside This Instant Cure”

“The DS All The Damned Day Cure”

“The Its Your Bat Mitzvah Not Your Bachelorette Party Cure”

“The Yu-huh Fruit Snacks Are So A Raw Food Cure”

“The Get off Your Motorized Scooter and Walk Your Ass Two Blocks to School Cure”

“The Lunch Money Not Extra-Shot-Venti-No-Foam-Latte Money Cure”

“The Texting Is Neither A Verb Nor A Proper Way To Speak To Your Mother Cure”

“The Pullups Are Not Forever Cure”

“The No You May Not Register for Birthday Gifts Cure”

“The Sale at Forever 21 Does Not Constitute Emergency-only Cell Phone Use Cure”

“The I Don’t Care If You Are a Vegetarian Vampire, Eat Your Brisket Cure”

and finally...

“The Post Photos Of Yourself on Facebook and Miss Piggle Wiggle Will Kill You in Your Sleep Cure"

The Crack Facktor

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 06:01:00 +0000

So seventy is the new fifty is the new thirty is the new embryo. Heels and Hose have been replaced with skinny jeans and Uggs for casual mom fashion, and for the most part I say Hallelu-JAH.

I like feeling campus-chic when I smack my forehead going through the tube slide--no fear of mussing my skirts or running my stockings. While little plastic eggs are fun, I prefer to let little Christian children search for them on Easter, rather than pry one open every morning for my Leggs.

But the biggest trend in mom fashion for our generation is also an inadvertent one…

The Crack Facktor.

Our butts are falling out all over the place. Big or little, light or dark, we are falling all over ourselves--even while we attempt playground-appropriate. Sure, we nipped that panty line catastrophe in the butt, but now we are plumbing ourselves all over the parkbench.

Half-water Juice Box? Check. Whole Grain Goldfish? Check? Double buttcheeks? Err… Check.

After showing a different side of ourselves to Grandpa during that ill-fated round of horseshoe toss “I’ll get those, Grandpa! Got ‘em! WHOOPSIE DAISEY” most of us learned the lesson of the low-rise. You try to compromise, but even the midrise and a long tank top fail on occasion--like every time I wrestle with a snow boot or bend to retrieve an errant mitten.

Pardon me, but did you hear that? The collective GASP of our ancestral matriarchs?

Yep, they're a-spinnin' round and round. Don't you hear their cry?

WHERE ARE THE GRANNY PANTS
WHERE ARE THE MOM JEANS
COVER UP YOUR TRAMP STAMP
KEEP BUTTS UNSEEN! (Repeat and alternate with KEEP YOUNG MINDS CLEAN)

How long will we keep this up?

I'm imagining the inevitable remake of “Golden Girls” called “Molded Girls." References to "flab" or "sag" will need to be written out. Instead of silk bathrobes and turbans, the new cast will sport “GILF” shirts and yoga pants.

And my how we will miss the granny pant...

Humane Society Pet Adoption Interview Questions REVISED

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 06:01:00 +0000

[What they should've asked...]

Why do you want to adopt a pet? Do you yearn for more feet on your keyboard and furbutt slamming your laptop screen shut?

Do you know what kind of pet is right for you? May we suggest a goldfish? Or better yet, a Webkinz?

Can you afford to care for your pet’s health and safety? Did you plan on spending that grand for kitty dentistry, with no discernible breath improvement? How will you respond to your pet's request for gastric bypass? Will you hand feed him pureed Fancy Feast with an eye dropper, if it means an improvement in his self-esteem?

Will you be able to spend quality time with your pet? Other than the “bray like a demonbaby-upon seeing the neighbor cat at 4am-inflate tail and go psycho” game?

Are you prepared to handle the animal’s health challenges? How do you feel about hairballs? Would you say you enjoy binging and purging as much as the next person?

Are you willing to train your animal companion? When he uses the litterbox as an armrest, can you calmly redirect him? Will you handle litterbox kickbacks swiftly and with compassion? How about when he expresses his ennui by pissing on your pillow?

Are you prepared to pet-proof your home? Could you invent a baby-gate that keeps the toddler out, but lets the kitty cat in? Without decapitating the toddler?

Is your living space adequate for an animal companion? How do you feel about your linen closet as a kitty condo? Would you classify yourself as a "free-range" cat family? Or a "have you seen the cat this week" family?

Are you ready to make a long-term commitment? After your kids move out of the house, do you want a remaining dependent with eight more lives?

You know cats whine, right? Especially just as your children nod off, and often while keyboard pacing?

Excellent. You are denied. NEXT!

Better Than Funny

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 15:38:00 +0000

What is better than funny?

Shopbop not only matched my delurking day donation, but TRIPLED IT! I just got news from my wonderful contact Kelly over at Shopbop that they will donate $250.00 to the relief effort charity of my choice.

Reading this on Stacey/Anymommy's post, and watching this clip from MSNBC, inspired me to donate to God's Littlest Angles, .

Here is what Stacey wrote:
If you want to donate, you probably already have and the Red Cross is an amazing first responder. If you want a long-standing, incredibly well-run organization that has been on the ground with Haiti's children for decades, give to God's Littlest Angels. Truth be told, I should have asked you to give to GLA two years ago. They do astonishing work. They cared for my daughter and for the little boy that was briefly ours for over a year. I lived there for three weeks in January 2005 as a volunteer and witnessed the hard work they do. I didn't ask because I imagined that we all have our own causes, but now as the world focuses on Haiti, I am shamelessly making my suggestion. GLA was caring for 150 children in a difficult, unstable environment on Monday and their job is infinitely harder today. They have the experience, they have the resources, they are accepting cash donations and they are also accepting supplies at their Colorado Springs office. They have brought containers into Haiti many times in the past and whenever that becomes a viable option, they will do it again. Until they can bring in supplies, I know funds will be vital as available supplies in Haiti become even more expensive, processing adoptions are halted and children orphaned or displaced in the earthquake arrive at their gates

Thank you, thank you, thank you to Shopbop for your generous donation, to Stacey for helping it land in good hands, to Pauline/OHMommy for the idea, and to you readers for all your comments.

Gratefully yours,
Ann

Here is something fun to do

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 06:01:00 +0000

By 8-year-old Ann

Take off Chatty Cathy’s mustard colored knitted dress that Granny made and wrap her clothes in Kleenex. Take off Kissing Barbie’s mustard colored scarf that Granny made and wrap it in Kleenex. Put these gifts under the orange desk chair. My mom says my matching curtains, bedspread, and wallpaper colors are called mustard, orange, and olive colors. One day I will have to make my lip-shaped pillow in home ec out of mustard corduroy because that is all we can find in the basement. Go watch Love Connection and eat three bowls of Cookie Crisp. Wake up beautiful daughters and say “Merry Christmas.” Let them unwrap their presents. Take Chatty Cathy’s abdomen disc out and put it in ten times. Pull the string so she says “Willllllyoooooouubeeemahhhfreeehn?” Wish you hadn’t cut her hair, because she does not look good. Punish her by giving her a time out, while you take Kissing Barbie and go watch The Peoples Court. Do several amazing couch routines, because you are great at the ideas of gymnastics. Put on your sister’s fancy rose ballet outfit and deliver a soliloquy entitled “Where am I , Where are my parents” in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors in the living room. Try to see what you look like when you are sleeping. When you hear loud laughter proceed directly to your room, lock the door and sing Tomorrow Tomorrow because you are just as good as Aileen Quinn. She looks so weird in that Annie wig that it makes you uncomfortable. Wish you could stop looking at her. Read Ramona Quimby and repeat Jeezus Beezus over and over again. Go drink water out of a Dixie cup in the bathroom, and film a commercial in the mirror for Natural Nature Drink. Go ride your bike in circles and pretend to drop your beautiful daughters off at school over and over again. Parking is great. Go inside to set the table even though you hate it so much.

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Thank you so much to NapWarden for my blog redesign! Check out her blog and design site. I've really enjoyed working with her (she also did my Ann Imig website--see tab above).

Thanks to everyone who delurked and commented last week. It was thrilling to see such a response. I will make my donation this week. I think I have a sponsor or two planning to match me. Stay tuned for details...

It's Delurking Day! Let's chat, shall we? [Edited: 1$ per comment for Haiti]

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 01:53:00 +0000

Inspired by @OHMommy (Pauline of Classy Chaos) I am donating 1$ per commentor to the Haitian relief effort. I will cap at $100. If anyone wants to match my funds email me at annsrants.com

Husband and I have learned a few things during our 13 years together:

1. We don't know each other as well as we thought.
2. We don't know each other at all.
3. Who the hell are you?

Readers, you and I have learned a few things during our 13 (ok 15) months together:
1. I think I'm pretty funny
2. If you're still reading this you think I'm kinda funny. Maybe even HaHa Funny.
3. Are you still reading this?

So, it's Delurking Day and I wish to hear from you. Consider it bloggy feedback. Would you like me to come off stage, do a few neck rolls and just hang loose with you? Can I answer any questions? No, you may not see my spoon-thumbs. Yes, despite being vehemently anti church and state, I did once play the virgin Mary in the state capitol rotunda. Sue me. IT WAS THE LEAD.

You! You in the back with the ANNSRANTSDANCE! sign? Yes? Pretell? Oh. You just want me to dance. Got it.

Hammer!Hammer! I AM. Hammer! They put me in the mix!

**please delurk.really. this is exhausting. Leave a comment. Ask A Question. Emoticon. High 5?

10 Signs You’ve Emerged from Babyland

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 06:01:00 +0000

1. You ask a baby-wearing Mama where she got “that silly backpack”

2. The last time you changed a diaper your child said “I prefer a bidet”

3. You’ve stopped speaking to your husband in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS

4. Breastfeeding a baby now seems as remote a possibility as molting your feathers.

5. You no longer have babies spitting up at the dinner table, but rather loud burps followed by “AWESOME”

6. Your stroller is so dirty and jerry-rigged that Graco recalls you personally

7. Instead of playing “pattycake” your kids play “Butt2Butt”

8. You can no longer pull-off the “baby brain” excuse (but isn’t your kid in kindergarten?)

9. You inform the infant sucking on a pacifier that she has “something in her teeth”

10. You tell that same infant that “she might be cute and all, but it’s rude to drift off when someone is speaking to you”

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A huge thank you to Allison, Heather, & Steph, for hosting Cupcake10. I loved meeting new bloggy friends and reuniting with others in such a cozy, laid back setting. Hearing everyone’s stories both humbled and inspired me, and I feel thankful to begin the new year with a fresh perspective.

technorati claim token 4ZG8FA36JE7X

McSweeney's

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 06:01:00 +0000

I popped back into your reader to let you know my open letter "An Open Letter To The House of Pain" is up at McSweeney's.

Thanks so much to those who read and tweeted it yesterday. I really appreciate that.

I hope you enjoy it and I'm feeling much better now.

Mwah!

What I learned from Master Mickey

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 06:01:00 +0000

Disney has not only mastered the G-rated movie, but also the G-rated pride parade.

One single balloon can cost ten dollars.

Some parents steer their children by their hair.

Disney does unspeakable things to girl-hair in the name of princess.

Not having girl-children can save you hundreds of princess dollars and princess hours in line.

All the employees are called “cast members” and the visitors “guests.” Pretty sure I saw Micky slap Donald when he refused to call him “Master.”

Some of the actors didn’t know what the hell the lyrics of that welcome parade song were, either.

The Winnie-The-Pooh ride is like a trip through Tim Burton’s brain. A bad acid trip.

One corn dog can cost five dollars.

There is some debate among retiree volunteers if more than one person can use one fast-pass. Telling them that “Ronnie, the guy at the Winnie The Pooh ColoredSugarBongStationThingee sent us” may or may not help the situation

After ten hours you, too, will remark about the “beauty of the castle” and muse about how indeed it is A Small World After All

If God-forbid you cannot find your child, first consult with the parade clean up people. This did not happen to us, but that is some crazy magic instantaneous clean-up choreography. A kid or two might get swept up in the process. (take notes; CIA, Swiffer)

A double stroller rental can cost $30 for one day and be the best investment you ever made

Happy New Year, everyone. THE HOLIDAYS ARE NOW OVER. Wheeeeeeeeeeee! Hope 2010 is a good, peaceful year for you and yours.

555555! (high fives, remember?)
Ann

900-YUR-HOME (or SAHP*rn)

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 20:24:00 +0000

YUR HOME,This is Fred speaking

Yeah. Hi Fred. Make it quick--the kids are watching Wubzy.

You are at the wine bar with your girlfriends…

Faster, Fred. I’ve only got a few minutes.

The attractive waiter arrives with your Grey Goose martini, up, two olives. It’s 2-for-1 Grey Goose martini, up, two olives night.

Yes, Fred, Yes!

He brings an amuse bouche (FREE FOOD) involving butter and truffle oil

Oh. My. God. Don’t stop

Your best friend mentions seeing your exboyfriend at a wedding. He asked about you. He no longer has any hair on his head, but a very long woolly beard.

Focus, Fred.

He still wants you. Everyone wants you! But you go directly to your own master suite for the weekend and sleeeeeeeep ALONE in a king-sized bed.

YES! YES! YES!

You are interrupted only for room service, a yet-to-be-invented instantaeous painless permanent entire body unwanted hair removal process, hot stone massages, and by your complimentary stylist bringing you complimentary outfits.

AND THERE ARE NO CAPRI PANTS ANYWHERE IN SIGHT. RIGHT, FRED? I LOOK AMAZING, DON'T I FRED? YUR AMAZING. FRED! FRED! FRED! FRED!

Your husband calls. His parents are taking the children. For a week. He cannot wait to watch When Harry Met Sally with you for the 387th time.

YESYESYESYES!OH DEAR JEEBUS CRYBUS! DON’T STOP DON’T EVER STOP
He has cleaned the house, settled all your finances, and finished all his DIY projects.

UhhhhhhhhhhhhhAHHHHHHHHHHHHHOoooooooooooooHHHH

The two of you are going to revisit your honeymoon in ParadiseInPoverty, Mexico. First Class. Without the Montazuma-tainted Puerto Vallarta excusion this time, but WITH your brand. New. IMAC.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOoooooomMM
Ma’am? Are you okay? Hello?

[steaming Croc treads to the door] Dial tone.

###

Thanks to everyone who left a comment for last week's giveaway. Wish I had a few more books to giveaway, because it was very hard to choose. Aliceson won the signed copy of Pacify Me. Spencer and Beth won Yiddish for Babies. Please email me at annsrants@yahoo.com with your mailing addresses. Congrats!

A Parental Sledding Aptitude Test and Giveaway!

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 06:01:00 +0000

1) Do you bring your dogs with you to the sledding hill?

2) Do you let your dogs off-leash on the sledding hill?

3) Do you let your dogs that “DON’T LIKE PEOPLE THEY DON’T KNOW**” off-leash at the sledding hill?

4) Do you let your children handle the situation by themselves?

5) Do you let your children handle the situation by screaming “STAY AWAY FROM OUR DOGS. THEY DON'T LIKE PEOPLE THEY DON'T KNOW" at the slightly terrified mother (played by Soleil Moon-Frye, or perhaps Mayim Biyalik)?

6) When Soliel/Mayim/Ann inquires of your children if they indeed “HAVE A GROWN UP” Will your children shout back across the sled hill “WE CAN’T CONTROL OUR DOGS. HE’S DEAF, SO DON’T TALK TO HIM” Leaving Soliel/Mayim/Ann confused as to whether “He” refers to the dog or the as-yet-to-appear grown up?

** all caps indicates yelling, even when standing side-by-side (layers).

If you answered yes to any of the above questions, please refer to comedian Chris Mancini's (Daddy Needs Some Alone Time) hysterical new book “Pacify Me: A Handbook for The Freaked Out New Dad”. In between scifi references Chris dishes out real advice, which I ignored because I was laughing so hard. I can’t imagine a better new baby gift. Except for free housecleaning.

Another great baby gift is “Yiddish for Babies: A Language Primer for Your Little Pitsel” By Janet Perr. Simon and Schuster contacted me to do a review, and I said I don’t do reviews but that title is so funny I will do a giveaway. Obviously I can’t be trusted, because I kind of just did a review of Chris’ book. So for the record, Yiddish for Babies is as funny as the title—it’s a mini coffee table book of funny pictures and Yiddish sayings. Call it a diaper table book.

Leave a comment below sharing the the worst parenting advice you ever gave, heard, or received, and which book you’d like. I’ll pick two winners for "Yiddish for Babies." Chris will pick one winner, and send a signed copy of “Pacify Me”

I made no money and received nothing free for these giveaways. In fact I am losing money, as I didn’t know to ask Simon and Schuster to do the shipping, so please go easy on me and only enter if you live in the U.S. Okay?

Finally, this sledding hill meshiggas is non-fiction. The dogs did not maul us, despite the fact that the grown-up-that-finally-appeared let them sniff us repeatedly. And Chris does not address parental sledding aptitude in his book, so that is one small shortcoming I shall disclose.

Winners will be announced next week. May the lamest advice win!

Sorry I Woke You. Again. It's the WorkWeekWidow!*

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 03:27:00 +0000

Hi _____________ (insert name of dear friend or family member)!

Please forgive my phone call at seven am this morning – I forget that most people are still asleep during the hour I consider brunch. No, nothing was the matter. I had nothing urgent to report. In fact, I had nothing of consequence to say whatsoever. The boys were watching Yo Gabba Gabba, and I wanted to share my idea for my own Dancey-Dance. Also, I wanted to tell you not to miss Trader Joe’s Chenin Blanc. I feel so affected when I say “Shheneeen Blahhnk.” Anyway. Do you really think it’s going to rain later?

How have you been since I spoke with you last night? Did you finish up those dishes? Did you guys watch a DVD? Which one? Was it funny? Did he think it was funny? Sorry I called you back right after we hung up, but I forgot to tell you that I felt a little nauseous. I wondered if you thought it was from exhaustion, or if I might be getting sick. Ha! I’m so codependant. Ha! I guess your Husband isn’t too far off when he hands you the phone saying, “It’s your lover again.”

Anyway, what are you guys doing today? Want to meet at the Children’s Museum? Or we could go to the zoo again if it’s not below zero outside. I hate it when I’m all “let’s go see the animals” and the penguins won’t even come out without their mucklucks on. Oh, that’s right. I forgot you have to go to work. What days do you work again? I can never remember. Oh yeah, every weekday morning. Got it.

Cool. Well, I’ll call you after you get home, and see if you want to get together this afternoon. Okay? Sorry to take up so much time on your voice mail. Love you. Miss you. I’d really love to see you. I’m so grateful for our relationship, have I told you that lately? THREE AND FIVEPOINTFIVE, GET THOSE BATH TORPEDOES OUT OF YOUR BUTTS IMMEDIATELY. Well, guess I better go. I can’t believe I’ve already maxed out their two hours of screen time and it’s only ten am.

BEEEEEEEP!

(Recorded voice mail attendant) IF YOU’D LIKE TO LEAVE A MESSAGE, PRESS 1. IF YOU’D LIKE TO ERASE AND RE-RECORD PRESS 2. TO HANG UP, PRESS #. TO MARK THIS MESSAGE DESPERATE, I MEAN URGENT, PRESS 3

* WorkWeekWidow refers to a parent with a spouse that travels, leaving said parent alone with their very small children during the workweek

Spelling Word List: Grade 30something

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 06:01:00 +0000

Neti Pot as in “Please do not use my neti pot for a genie lamp”

Kidney Tonic as in “I recommend this Hermit’s mix kidney tonic for your humpback”

Beaujolais as in “Have you met my daughter, Beaujolais?”

HoMedics as in “Get your naked butts off my HoMedics Shiatzu Massager”

Mirena as in “Why do I always want to call Mirena-my-IUD, Minerva?”

Apnea as in “Wondering aloud if Husband’s snoring is due to Apnea, my therapist gave me a new neurosis”

Quinoa as in “Have you met my son, Quinoa?”

Ma’am as in “Why do you need to see my ID for the wine if you’re calling me Ma’am?”

Mindfulness as in “Can you repeat everything you just said? I’m practicing Mindfulness.”

Antioxident as in “Zhis Dawk Chawcwate is hewfy wif its powfuw antioxshidensss”

Sitz Bath as in "I think the nurses' favorite word is sitz bath"

GERD as in “Have you met my Great Aunt GERD?”

###
Thank you to the ever-popular Oh My Goddess (fka Comedy Goddess) for her Goddess Award last Friday. The Goddess always surprises with her sharp wit, and quirky sensibility.

Also, I want to mention to Elizabeth, beautiful writer of Boy Crazy: Finding Clarity in the Chaos and Becky, the hilarious Princess Mikkimoto that it was a pleasure meeting you both last week. I feel so lucky to have local bloggy buds--especially when I am missing dear Amy Bitchin' Wife so much. Thank goodness Maggie isn't going anywhere. Ever. Right Maggie?

Dear Crossing Czarina

annsrants@yahoo.com (Ann's Rants) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 02:32:00 +0000

I hope you notice the deference with which I address you, for it demonstrates my awareness of the supreme power you wield in your crosswalk jurisdiction.

I suppose it’s typical of the average crossing guardian to bring their own props; to--how you say-- customize your “beat.” I admire the care you show in placing your blaze cone every morning, and your accompanying folding chair throne. You deserve to be safe; safe, comfy, and omnipotent.

Safe as in “I’ll let him go this time, but next time your toddler needs to dismount the tricycle and walk it”

Comfy as in “I’ll stare you down from my chair—across the street and twenty yards away. I need not rise for you to feel the disdain growing ‘neath my BluBlockers. I have no siren, but a mere shake of my snowy locks causes you to pull your car over and see if I have some crossing-nugget I wish to impart”

Omnipotent as in “I paint my own street markers to ensure the safety of the masses” Only a crossing czarina paints her own RED LINE on the corner and demands “turn around and wait behind the RED LINE.”

As I approached your safety altar with the stroller, you scrambled into position—alerting the lack of traffic with your handy portable STOP sign. I might’ve avoided you all together, but I took the opportunity to obey your authority, and respect your craft-of-the-cross.

But then we had the second cross to contend with. I enjoy the pomp and circumstance of the crosswalk as much as the next biped, and I had no intention of a blatant jay-walk in your presence. Did you note my pause-n-turn genuflection at the curb, before you insisted I go all the way back up behind your RED LINE? I needed that reminder. Thank you.

Thank you also for warning me that a U-turn in a school zone costs $85. My kindergartner assumes you write the tickets. Do you issue citations?

Finally, thanks for screaming at me to move my car at pick up time yesterday, as the car was only halfway parked in the three allotted 10 minute waiting spots, and halfway in the NoparkingNostandingNoleavingyourpreschoolerunattendedNowaytopickupyourkindergartner spot.

You’re a lifesaver.

Ann

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A couple things that have come to my intention:

1) Thursday is "It's Time To Talk Day." Liz Claiborne Inc.’s Moms and Dads for Education (MADE) to Stop Teen Dating Abuse is a coalition of parents, teachers and concerned citizens advocating that every high school in the country teach a curriculum on preventing dating relationship violence and abuse. Meaghan from Mama's Cup is partnering with Liz Clairborne to help with this very important effort, and asked me to spread the word.

2) Kate of The Big Piece of Cake had the idea to promote indie designers/artists and small companies as a great option for holiday shopping on her As Good As Cake site. It's a sucky economy and the little guys are finding it harder and harder to keep their businesses afloat. Go check out her giveaways and help our fellow blogger/entrepreneurs in the process.

3) Finally, if you are having trouble staying afloat financially, there is help. NFCC.org has launched a series of videos, giving access to free information called “Financial Fast Facts,” brief videos that can be utilized with minimal effort to ensure the right, financial steps are taken before the big holiday rush arrives.

No, I didn't accept gifts or money or anything (accept for a slightly clearer conscious, perhaps) in exchange for any of this linkage. Clearly I need to work on this issue in therapy.